To Save Sherlock Holmes
by TheLastFanBoy
Summary: John Watson loses the one person he cares most for in a way he could never imagine. However, there is one man who can save him.
1. The Sunday Routine

The sound of the water inside the kettle reaching its boiling point, signalled the beginning of the Sunday routine at 221B Baker Street. Slipper clad feet slide their way into the cluttered kitchen, coming to rest at the base of the counter. Two cups are retrieved from the unit above, before being filled with the specific ingredients required for each of the inhabitants tea.

John Watson fills the cups to the brim, a yawn escaping his mouth, before removing the tea bags and setting the drinks on a tray. Taking the tray over to the small table in between his chair and that of his friends, he plops down in his seat. The Sunday routine was clockwork by now. He could close his eyes and yet still know what was happening in the room around him. Seven sips into his own cup of tea, Sherlock would emerge in his dressing gown, barefoot and un-groomed. He would complain about his tea being cold, before placing himself into his own chair. A case would follow. One solved before he'd finished his tea, the next before John could even wash up. And, sure enough, it went off without a hitch. Sherlock had discovered the location of the missing diamond and eliminated all but one suspect in a murder case, just as John put the empty mugs on the rack to dry.

Very little could throw off this robotic schedule. Almost nothing, in fact. However, one of those things was currently making its way up the stairs, toward the men's front door. The door bursts open, an unrecognised woman in a dressing gown of her own. The response drawn from John was a fast turn, followed by an action-station stance. Sherlock, however, merely lifted his head. "Relax, John." Sherlock said, somewhat uncomfortingly. "She's scared, not attacking. Listen to her breathing." The woman was still catching it, as she stared wide eyed and panicked at the men who owned the flat she had just intruded on. "Please..." She started, panting. "He's just... gone"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, flicking his paper back open. "And here I thought that was going to be interesting." He turned to the woman, questioning her. "Let me guess, husband went out last night and is yet to return? I expect you'll find him home soon wearing the same clothes with a very guilty look on his face" John frowned at the detective, approaching the woman. "Don't worry about him. He's not as caring as he looks." Sherlock huffed, "Oh please, I don't look caring". John guided the woman to a chair. "Exactly" he said as the lady sat down, ready to plead her case.


	2. Toward The Light

"Her husband couldn't have just vanished, Sherlock. He has to be somewhere." John spoke as he watched the woman leave from the window, the curtain pulled back. "Of course not," Sherlock replied, relaxing calmly in his chair. "because there ISN'T a husband." Sherlock was casual in his accusations of insanity. Letting the curtain fall once the woman was out of site, John turned to his friend. "So, her imaginary invisible husband has gone from plain sight, then?" John said in his usual sarcastic tone. "How do you know he isn't real?" John crossed the cluttered room, tossing the notes he made from the woman's story to one side so that he could sit, waiting for the inevitable long winded answer that was bound to follow.

"Records, John." Sherlock began. "Everyone has records. You just have to know where to look. Fortunately I do, and I did." He motioned to the open laptop behind him, prompting a frown from John. "Did it while you were comforting her. You do get awfully involved." Sherlock climbed to his feet, picking up his violin as he does so. "There his no record of any man by that name. Or that description. Anywhere. At all. Nothing. So, there are two conclusions one can make." A puzzled look covered John's face, much to Sherlock's delight. "Either she's nice and crazy, or there are some VERY thorough kidnappers out there" Sherlock chuckled at the detectives joke, relaxing back in his chair, listening to the soothing sound that followed from the violin.

The Sunday routine resumed, and promptly wrapped up. Excluding the Imaginary Man, as John had brilliantly named the case that never was, the day was relatively normal. Sherlock had managed to start a game of poker with international terrorists while John had gone to get milk. Once Lestrade and his men had cleaned up the mess, John settled down for some telly while Sherlock ran his experiments in the kitchen, and by about midnight, both had gone to bed. Sleep was a concept Sherlock wasn't very familiar used to, so when it was interrupted, he noticed. The noise was faint, but enough to rouse him. Sitting up, he looked at the clock. 02.36, it read. Back to the sound. Burglar? No. The sound was not footsteps. It was almost... metallic. Silently, his feet were out of bed and at the door. Silent still, the door to his room was open and he crept to the living room. Nothing in there. What he did see though, was a bright light, barely making its way through the small gap in the curtains. Nothing in his vast bank of thoughts could decide what would be omitting this light at this hour. Curiosity taking over, he reached out his hand. With one swift motion, he pulled back the curtain.

Many things had woken John in the past. Small explosions from experiments, the violin, even Sherlock exclaiming at late night quiz shows. But never the sound that jolted him into consciousness tonight. A loud, piercing whistle. Sitting up quickly, the first thing that caught his eye was the blinding white light under his door. His instincts kicking in, he lept up, swinging open his door. What he saw had him rooted to the spot. His best friend was engulfed in the light, standing at the window. He wasn't moving. The light started to fade, and with it, so did Sherlock. John only had time to shout one word. "SHERLOCK!" And as quickly as it had come, the light was gone. John was left staring at an empty flat. No one but him. Sherlock Holmes, was gone.


End file.
